


do we trust (in the truly gruesome)

by superstarrgirl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst, Depression, M/M, Self-Harm, also suicidal thoughts, cutting tw, happy endings (sort of), hospitals and near-death, no capitals because i like this writing style sue me, perrie is only mentioned in passing, teenagers au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 23:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5645068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superstarrgirl/pseuds/superstarrgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he is in love with a boy that will never love him back </p>
<p>                                                                                 can you guess which one i'm talking about?</p>
            </blockquote>





	do we trust (in the truly gruesome)

**Author's Note:**

> so who would have thought i'd be back into writing 1D? not me, that's for sure! but i'm a sucker for zouis, and this one comes with angst abounds! it was written in like two hours total and kind of doesnt make a lot of sense but i kind of love it? like, i'm pretty proud of it. lemme know what you think!
> 
> title comes from 'novocaine' by fall out boy, and parts of this story are loosely inspired by richard siken's "you're in a car with a beautiful boy"
> 
> as per usual, no harm is meant by this fic, and i own no rights to any of what is written - simply musings and thoughts and whatnot.

he’s falling in love.

 

mama would call it drowning, in her honey sweet voice, and would look at him with eyes full of warmth and say, _it gets easier, pet. it gets easier_.

 

he’s falling in love with a boy that will never be his. it’s the worst part of it all.

 

+

 

“what do you want?” zayn asks, slowly. tiredly. his eyes are glassy and dull in the moonlight.

 

(they have played this game before.

louis knows who wins

and it’s not him)

 

_you_ , he almost whispers. but zayn knows this, because the answers have never changed. “i want to run.” louis says instead, and it is every bit as broken as it sounds.

 

zayn stares at him, chewing his lip. he looks so beautiful like this, so lovely. he looks like a work of art, like someone carved him from marble and stone and gave him life and soul and beauty.

 

it is two am and louis wants to run and never look back and zayn will indulge him. it is how this works.

 

“okay.” he finally whispers. “okay. let’s run.”

 

  
+

 

he is in the car with a boy that will never love him back, and for now, it’s enough.

 

he’s got his feet kicked up on the dash, watching as the city whirls by in a mix of window lights and car headlights and stolen kisses on sidewalks. he loves the city. thinks he could grow old in the city.

 

(there is a flash of something in his mind – of a house, of a bed, of a boy with dark hair and inked skin and in this version of the story, louis gets to taste those marks, gets to make his own)

 

zayn holds out a pack of cigarettes, and louis fishes out the lighter. he lights one cigarette. then another. lets the burn of the smoke fill his lungs and his throat.

 

_will i ever be enough_ he wants to ask. _will i ever be enough for you_.

 

in the lights of the city, zayn’s face falls into sharp relief. _love me_ louis pleads silently, desperately. _love me, zayn, see where i’m breaking, zayn, see where i’m falling to pieces_.

 

(reality comes in the form of a blade, his wrist, a pristine white sink.

reality comes in the form of a bottle of vodka in his room.

reality comes in the form of zayn, stooped over, kissing some blonde bird with a too-bright laugh and too-bright eyes and _everything louis isn’t_ )

 

+

 

his wrists sting (his head hurts) his wrists sting (his eyes burn) hiswristssting.

 

he’s head over heels.

 

(no one ever said love was fair)

 

+

 

“if i asked you to kiss me,” he breathes into the stale air, hot breath mixing with the cigarette smoke. “would you?”

 

“what’s in it for me?” zayn asks teasingly, but his eyes aren’t sparkling. none of him is bright anymore. he’s no supernova.

 

_i don’t have anything left to give that isn’t yours already_.

 

“everything.”

 

the car pulls over. zayn kisses him. louis’ lips burn. blood seeps through his t-shirt.

 

if zayn sees, he says nothing.

 

+

 

“do you love her?”

 

zayn flinches. “what?”

 

“the girl.” louis waves his hand impatiently. “the blonde. do you love her?”

 

he wants zayn to say no so desperately that he almost begs. he wants zayn to look at him with honey eyes, click his tongue and press a kiss to the side of louis’ mouth. say _no_. say _not as much as i love you_.

 

say _i could never love her as much as i love you_.

 

zayn sighs, blows a breath of cigarette smoke. doesn’t say anything for a moment too long. “you were never meant to get caught up in all of this.” is what he says, and he makes it sound like a choice. like louis _chose_ this, chose waiting for zayn, chose falling in love with zayn.

 

“what the fuck, zayn?” louis snaps. “what the fuck is that supposed to mean? that i was never meant to get caught up in you? that i’m not supposed to read into you kissing me like you mean it? fucking christ, you know what it feels like whenever i see you and her kissing? touching? holding hands? d’you wanna know?”

 

and, because he can, he rips back the sleeve of his jacket and exposes himself. “this is what it feels like.” he hisses, watching as zayn recoils at the poison in his voice.

 

the scars are bleeding, bright red and bubbling. zayn hates blood, but he can’t seem to look away.

 

“say _something_.” louis demands, just this side of begging. he will not fall to his knees for zayn malik. he will not.

 

(he already has)

 

the other boy stares at the scars, and then up at him. “please.” he pleads, trembling hand reaching to touch louis’ wrist. “please, lou. no more.”

 

louis feels himself tumbling forward into the light that zayn pushes forth, into the warm arms and the bright glow. but he yanks back, steps out of reach. “go fuck yourself.” he spits, sharp and cruel and awful. and then he storms out.

 

(he pretends – _god_ does he pretend – that it doesn’t hurt when zayn doesn’t follow)

 

+

 

he calls zayn two weeks later, broken and drunk and lonely.

 

(oh so lonely)

 

“it’s two in the morning.” zayn grumbles when he picks up the phone.

 

“zayn.” louis whispers down the line, doesn’t miss the hitch in the other’s breath. “ _zayn_.” he says it reverently, like a plea, like a bargain, like a prayer. “i’ve messed up. oh god, zayn, i’ve screwed up so bad.”

 

the sink is stained red. the water swirls murky brown. the razor is tainted dark.

 

(louis’ wrists are stinging. his heart is breaking.

 

nothing is new.)

 

zayn breathes down the line for a long time. and then he says, “jesus, lou, i – i’m on the way.”

 

louis worries he won’t be awake when zayn gets there. zayn worries he’ll be too late.

 

(both of them are right)

 

+

 

he wakes in a hospital room, all scratchy white sheets and luminescent bright lights and sore everything and there’s a boy holding his hand.

 

(he is in love with a boy who will never love him back.

 

                                                            can you guess which one i’m talking about?)

 

“zayn?” he croaks out, watches as zayn leaps up, startled, wide eyes panicked and terrified. and then he sees louis, and he crumbles.

 

“lou, oh my god, lou.” he sobs, desperate, folding over the other boy. “i thought i lost you, louis, christ, don’t do that again. i can’t lose you, louis, please.”

 

it’s not _i love you_ , but it’s close enough.

 

+

 

he lost too much blood – that’s what zayn says. his wrists are scarred and broken and will probably never heal. louis lost so much blood that when the paramedics finally arrived, they didn’t know if he was going to make it.

 

there’s a desperation in the way zayn whispers, “i kept thinking i was gonna lose you on that bathroom floor.” there’s a desperation in the way louis says, “you won’t lose me.”

 

( _you never have_ , he thinks to himself. _why on earth would i let go now?_ )

 

+

 

they keep louis in hospital for the next few days, where he’s got meeting with therapists and psychologists and doctors and his mum looks at him so tired, so broken.

 

(it gets easier – what a load of bullshit. it only ever gets worse)

 

the third day, they’re sitting outside playing a game – nothing much changes, even now, even here. “this or that – natalie portman or scarlett johansson.”

 

zayn pauses, sucks his lower lip into his mouth, as if he’s actually thinking it out. “portman.” he finally decides, and when he smiles, it’s a shadow of real. “this or that – dc or marvel.”

 

louis bites out a laugh. “marvel. duh.” the wind blows around them, zayn’s eyes brightening in the sliver of sunlight that pokes through the clouds. “this or that.” louis starts, holding out both his hands so the palms are facing upwards. “me. or her.”

 

there are no names spoken (louis doesn’t know her name, never cared to learn).

 

the air tightens with tension as zayn stares at the hands in front of him, as louis stares at the boy that he loves so much he was willing to _die_ for him.

 

(the doctor tells him he’s lucky to be alive

louis doesn’t dare say that there’s no luck in living

he found a way out and the universe wasn’t ready to let go)

 

zayn stands, hands tightening into fists against his sides. he says nothing, staring at louis and at the world he proposes, the question he’s asking. the answer that zayn needs to give.

 

no one speaks but –

 

that’s the thing about silence, isn’t it?

 

sometimes it says more than enough.

 

+

 

“her name is perrie.”

 

it’s the first thing zayn says to louis. it’s been two weeks since louis left the hospital. it’s been two weeks since they last spoke.

 

(it’s been two weeks since louis started trying to convince himself that he’s not in love he’s not he’s not he’s _not_ )

 

“s’that supposed to make me care?” louis asks tiredly, leaning on the doorframe. zayn looks so stunning like this, hair pressed against his forehead and eyes hidden behind wide-rimmed glasses and leather jacket hugging every part of him.

 

“no.” he grounds out, and then he’s kissing louis so hard, so strong, so meaningful that louis almost crumbles.

 

zayn pulls away first, hands grasping either side of louis’ face, never once daring to take his eyes away. “you made a decision that the universe would be better without you, that the world would somehow fare better.” he whispers fiercely. “but did you ever stop to think that maybe that wasn’t the way it worked? that maybe you were _meant_ to be here?”

 

_my whole universe is you_ louis thinks frantically, hands scrabbling for purchase in zayn’s jacket. “my whole universe is you.” he says, because he can, because he loves zayn, because this is all he’s ever wanted.

 

zayn kisses him again, once, gently, chastely.

 

_i love you_ zayn wants to say, watching the upward curl of louis’ lashes, the hope glimmering in his gaze. _i love you i love you i love you_.

 

“run away with me.” he presses into louis’ neck. the other boy’s breath hitches, his chest caves.

 

(they are not boys anymore, but they’re not quite men yet

stuck in some inbetween stage

and it’s enough)

 

“okay.” louis whispers. he laces their fingers together.

 

running feels like freedom.

 

+

 

he’s in love with a boy that loves him back.

 

it’s not a happy ending, not really, because the backseat of a car is no home.

 

but he’s in love with a boy that loves him back.

 

and see the beauty of it all?

 

the universe gave them an out, a way to run. the universe gave them a chance.

 

(they took it and held tight and never looked back)


End file.
